“Oh, my Bell! You shock me. Think again. Your general principle’s all right. Slugs do come out at night. Slugs like the dark. That’s a general truth which has its particular application. But you fail to observe the conditions. The body was in a wood with no herbage on the ground: and the ground was a light dry sand. These are not conditions which attract the slug. I should have been much surprised if I’d found any slugs there, or their tracks. But I looked for ‘em - which you didn’t. Bell. I’m always careful. And there wasn’t a trace. No. I can’t let you off. A slug had crawled over her skirt, leavin’ his slime from side to side. And yet his slime didn’t go beyond her skirt on to the ground anywhere. How do you suppose he managed that? Miracle - by a slug. I don’t believe in miracles if I can help it. I object to your simple faith in the miraculous gasteropod. It’s lazy.”
“You go beyond me,” said Bell uneasily. “You grasp the whole thing while I’m only getting bits. What do you make of it all?”
“Oh, my Bell!” Reggie reproached him. “Quite clear. When the slug walked over her, she wasn’t lying where she was found.”
“Is that all?” Bell grunted. “I dare say. She might have had her dose, and felt queer and lay down, and then moved on to die where we found her. Nothing queer in that, is there?”
“Yes. Several things very queer. It could be. Oxalic poisoning might lay her out and still let her drag herself somewhere else to die. Not likely she’d take care to bring her flask and her sandwiches with her. Still less likely she’d lie long enough for a slug to walk over her and then recover enough to move somewhere else - and choose to move into the wood, where she wouldn’t be seen. Why should she? She’d try for help if she could try for anything. And, finally, most unlikely she’d find any place here with slugs about. Look at it; it’s all arid and sandy and burnt up by the summer. No. Quite unconvincin’ explanation. The useful slug got on to her somewhere else. The slug is decisive.”
“Then you mean to say she was poisoned some other place, and brought here dead?” Bell frowned. “It’s all very well. You make it sound reasonable. But would you like to try this slug argument on a jury? They’d never stand for it, if you ask me. It’s all too clever.”
“You think so?” Reggie murmured. “Well, well. Then it does give variety to the case. We haven’t been very clever so far. However. Study to improve. There is further evidence. She’d been sick. Common symptom of oxalic poisoning. But she’d been sick on her underclothes and not on her outside clothes. That’s very difficult. Think about it. Even juries can be made to think sometimes. Even coroners, which is very hard. Even judges. I’ve done it in my time, simple as I am. I might do it again. Yes, I might. With the aid of the active and intelligent police force. Come on.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Oh, my Bell! I want to call on Mr. and Mrs. Brightman. We need their collaboration. We can’t get on without it.”
“All right. I don’t mind trying ‘em,” Bell agreed gloomily. “We’ve got to find out all about the old woman somehow. We don’t really know anything yet.”
“I wouldn’t say that. No,” Reggie mumbled. “However. One moment.”
They had come to the edge of the common by the hospital, where his car waited. He went’ across to it and spoke to his chauffeur. “Just calmin’ Sam,” he apologised on his return. “He gets peevish when forgotten. Come on.”
They arrived again at the little general shop. Its unshuttered window now enticed the public with a meagre array of canned goods and cartons which had been there some time. The door was shut but not fastened. Opening it rang a bell. They went in, and found the shop empty, and for a minute or two stood in a mixture of smells through which soap was dominant.
Mrs. Brightman came from the room behind, wiping red arms and hands on her apron. Her plump face, which was tired and sweating, quivered alarm at the sight of them. “Oh, it’s you!” she cried. “What is it? Is there anything?”
“Your children are doing well,” said Reggie. “Thought I’d better let you know that.”
She stared at him, and tears came into her eyes. “Praise God!” she gasped. “Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.”
“No. You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doin’ my job.”
But again she thanked him, and went on nervously, “Have you heard anything of Mrs. Wiven?”
“I want to have a little talk about her. Is Mr. Brightman in?”
“No, he isn’t, not just now. Have you got any news of her, sir?”
“Yes. There is some news. Sorry Mr. Brightman’s out. Where’s he gone?”
“Down to the yard, sir.”
“Out at the back here?”
“No. No. Down at his own yard.”
“Oh. He has a business of his own?”
“Yes, sir, a little business. Furniture dealing it is. Second - hand furniture.”
“I see. Well, well. We could get one of the neighbours to run down and fetch him, what?” Reggie turned to Bell.
“That’s the way,” Bell nodded. “What’s the address, ma’am?”
She swallowed. “It’s just round the corner. Smith’s Buildings. Anybody would tell you. But he might be out on a job, you know; I couldn’t say.”
Bell strode out, and the messenger he sent was one of his satellites.
